


Folie de Mars

by TheRedWulf



Series: Tysan One Shots [15]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ballet, Children, Doctor!Tywin, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Fluff, Light Dom/sub, Married Couple, Married Sex, May/December Relationship, Mirror Sex, Modern Era, Older Man/Younger Woman, One Shot, Pack Prompt, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prima!Sansa, Smut, The Wulf Pack, Time Skips, TySan, Tywin Lannister's A+ Parenting, Unironically Tagging, Wulf Pack 03/21, inner monologue, plot holes, twilight jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:14:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29893395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedWulf/pseuds/TheRedWulf
Summary: AU - Modern - In which 'March Madness' brings together a man and a woman who weren't looking for love...Picset is viewableHERE
Relationships: Tywin Lannister & Sansa Stark, Tywin Lannister/Sansa Stark
Series: Tysan One Shots [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1444660
Comments: 29
Kudos: 113
Collections: Pack Member Stories





	Folie de Mars

**Author's Note:**

> Well now...Hello my lovely Tysan darlings, remember me? 
> 
> Fun Fact: The last time I wrote this pairing was March 2020 (IIRC). The last time I was **asked** to write this pairing, however, was three days ago. Apparently, I have been remiss in my Tysan duties. For that I humbly apologize and offer you this...whatever this is...oh yeah, its another ballet Tysan--- **don't judge me**! On another note, I intended for this to be a short one shot and it turned into this smutty mess of a thing, so I hope you like it. This story will use the more informal writing style of [**Adaptation**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24245389/chapters/58423978/), so there should be a laugh or two in here, you know how I roll.
> 
> March Madness & Stupidity...
> 
> On a more important note, this is another installment for the Pack Prompts from [The Red Wulf's Pack](https://discord.gg/bsRauMj/) on discord! A ‘Pack Prompt' means that it is a 'Pack wide' challenge where anyone who chooses to participate can give the idea their own spin! This month's prompt is 'March Madness' and, well, here we are. Hey, just give me some credit, it isn't historical... _this time_...
> 
> There will be more for this prompt coming soon, with new pairings and authors! Check out the other pieces in the collection and feel free to join us on discord, [The Red Wulf's Pack](https://discord.gg/bsRauMj/)!
> 
> Kevan is the brother we all want. Tywin has no children. Sansa is an only child. Their ages have been adjusted to 42 and 26 respectively. For _reasons_. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! As usual, not a writer, not beta'd, the usual yadda, yadda, yadda...also, remember I don't know much about ballet or the French language!

Her day was ruined before she even opened her eyes. 

Absolutely, thoroughly, one-hundred percent ruined. 

Everything hurt--even her scalp hurt, and she wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep for another ten minutes to three months. Unfortunately there was an insistent ringing echoing in her ears. Rolling towards her phone that was currently blaring her morning alarm, she coughed the body-shaking cough of a woman who had woken up sicker than a dog. 

“No,” she croaked, trying to clear a throat that was completely engulfed in fire, scratching and burning with enough force that she probably should have changed her name to ‘Cullen’. There it was, the proof of how sick she was: so much so that she was actually thinking about _’Twilight’_ at a time like this.

Breathing through her mouth, as her nose was stuffed full, she shimmied closer to her phone and shut off the alarm. Blessed silence surrounded her and her pounding head, giving her the chance to take a few deep breaths and gather herself. 

Forcing her eyes open, she took several ragged breaths and battled back tears. Now was the absolute worst time to get sick--then again, when was a good time to get sick, really? Never, right? Regardless, she was in the heart of ‘March Madness’ and she could not fall behind. What was ‘March Madness’ you ask? It is the month from hell: four sennights of non-stop rehearsals, costume fittings, more rehearsals, and publicity work. It was crunch time for every member of the Lannisport Ballet Company and as the prima ballerina, Sansa Stark could absolutely _not_ get sick. 

She had worked for LBC for nearly three years now, having transferred from Moat Cailin Company where she had been their prima ballerina--their chief dancer for two years. When the chance to audition for Director Baelish and LBC had opened up, Sansa had jumped--literally and figuratively at the opportunity. LBC notoriety and history aside, Lannisport was a city with beaches--sunshine soaked beaches! What could be better than that? 

Nothing, that’s what. 

Leaving home had been bittersweet but her world had completely changed for the better since then. She wasn’t just Sansa Stark of MCC, she was Sansa Stark, prima Ballerina for LBC: the most well-respected name in modern ballet. She was a part of history and everyday was like living in a dream. 

She had started dancing when she was a toddler, following her ballerina mother around as she practised and trained. Her mother joked that Sansa’s first word had been ‘barre’ and that she was born to be a dancer. Sansa would be inclined to agree. She loved it and now, thanks to a lot of hard work and dedication, at the age of 26 she was at the top of the business. She had, of course, temporarily shelved the plans of a husband and family of her own, focusing on her dream while she was physically able. One day her legs would fail and her body would tire, but before then she planned to dance her heart out. 

And she had been, until today....

Willing herself to feel better, she concentrated as hard as possible only to sag against the bed as nothing improved. Where was a miracle when she needed it? 

Right, the universe was fresh out of miracles, as always. 

“Fuck,” she grimaced which caused another coughing fit to escape her chest. She rolled to her side, curling into a ball as she cough-cried and begged the Gods for mercy. 

Minutes later when she finally caught her breath she picked up her phone and dialed Director Petyr Baelish. He would understand--he would help even, that was how caring of a director he was….okay, okay, so he still harbored feelings for her mother, who had been a prima before she settled down and started a family. But he had to help…

“Sansa, is everything alright?” he picked up on the second ring. 

“S-s-sick,” she managed to choke out the word after several attempts.

“Oh no, no no,” he protested. “You cannot be sick. Please tell me that you are not sick!” 

“I know…” 

“Doctor, we need to get you to a doctor. Immediately,” he continued on. “Not just any doctor though, we need a good one.” 

“‘Kay..” she was exhausted and already ready for a nap. 

“I am going to call in a favor,” Baelish informed her. “Get cleaned up, get dressed, and wait for me to message you. I will be sending you an office address shortly.” 

“Alright,” she felt the sudden burn of tears in her eyes--which certainly didn’t help the mucus situation. “I’m sorry…” she barely choked back a sob. 

“I know, I know,” Baelish’s compassionate voice nearly unhinged her self-control. “We will fix it, don’t worry.” 

“O-kay,” she sniffled. 

“Talk to you soon,” he said and ended the call. Sansa’s hand and phone flopped to the mattress, her arm suddenly devoid of energy. Checking the time she allotted herself ten minutes to feel miserable for herself. Ten minutes to pout, cry, and rage; then when that time was up, she was going to put on her big girl panties and follow her director’s orders. 

Ten minutes. 

Tywin pinched the bridge of his nose and tossed the file folder aside--gently of course. His offices hadn’t even officially opened and he’d had enough of the world for today. The newest virus had been circulating Lannisport at rapid speed and it was keeping him more than busy. A stacked schedule and a plethora of walk-ins filled every day and his sanity was doing all it could to keep up. 

Lannister Family Medicine had opened up nearly fifteen years ago with Dr. Tywin Lannister and his younger brother Dr. Kevan Lannister leading the charge. Separated by only two years, the brothers were very close and had worked hard to get through not only life but also through medical school together. With focuses on general medicine and pediatrics, the two had always planned to open their own private practice in order to give back to the city they loved. 

Through all of the ups and downs; from their father’s alcoholism to the unexpected death of Tywin’s fiance Joanna, the brothers had survived and pushed forward. The day that they had finally graduated, the world two ‘Dr. Lannisters’ richer, would forever remain one of Tywin’s favorites. 

Now at the ages of 42 and 40 respectively, the brother’s were busier than ever. This was especially true now that Kevan and Dorna had added a third cub to their family, which meant that Tywin was left to bear the brunt of the extra work. He didn’t mind, he truly did love his profession, today however, he needed a nap. 

Still, exhaustion aside, he was not deterred in his dedication to his patients. Which is why he was in the office two hours early sorting through Kevan’s pending appointment list. It was fortunate he was early, however, since the phone began ringing insistently at 6am on the dot. 

“Tywin Lannister,” he answered the phone, curious as to who could be calling at such an hour. 

“Dr. Lannister, it's Petyr Baelish,” the familiar voice came on the line. At the introduction Tywin sat back in his leather chair. It had been many years since he’d had occasion to talk to the flamboyant director.

“Petyr,” Tywin replied. “It’s quite early, if there is an emergency, might I suggest dialing 9-1-1?” 

“Funny,” Baelish chuckled which made Tywin smile. “I’d almost forgotten what a comedian you are.” 

“You’ve been busy making a name for Lannisport with your company, I am not surprised you’d forget about my brother and I,” Tywin quipped. They’d met the ballet director many years ago when he and Joanna, along with Kevan and Dorna, had gone to the ballet to see ‘The Nutcracker’. It had been Baelish’s directorial debut and Joanna’s absolute favorite ballet. Her passion for ballet had them becoming early supporters of the Lannisport Ballet Company and quick friends with Baelish himself. 

That was many years ago now and Baelish had long since become a seasoned professional since then. It was hard to find a fan of ballet in the world that wouldn’t immediately sing his praises or talk about his bold choreography to their favorite stories. 

“Perhaps one of these days I will persuade you to return to the front row,” Baelish replied. “And I am ready to bribe you, if need be.” 

“Oh?” Tywin was suddenly intrigued. 

“But bribery must wait for another day. I am in a bit of a tight spot.” 

“How so?” 

“My prima has woken up with somewhat of a cold,” Baelish explained. “I cannot afford to lose a moment with her, she is vital to the premiere and ‘March Madness’ waits for no one. The sooner I can get her to a physician, the better.” 

“I am a doctor, not a miracle worker,” Tywin reasoned. 

“I know, but you and your brother are the best there is,” Baelish added. “Can I send her to you this morning?” 

“Kevan isn’t going to be in today, but if she can be here within an hour I will see her before we officially open for the day,” Tywin answered without hesitation. “I can get her started on antibiotics if need be.” 

“Thank you, Tywin, truly,” Baelish sighed into the receiver. “I will be eternally in your debt.” 

“I’ll be sure to remember that,” Tywin laughed. “What’s her name?” he leaned over the patient book, picking up a pencil. 

“Stark, Sansa Stark,” Baelish said. “She’s an angel, you’re going to adore her I am sure, everyone does,” Baelish laughed as Tywin made a notation in his book. By the time Sansa arrived, one of the nurses should be here which would come in handy. 

“I’ll start with trying to cure her,” Tywin replied dryly. “I’ll leave the adoration to your patrons.” 

“Fair enough,” Baelish conceded. “Thank you again, Tywin.” 

“It’s not a problem, I will do what I can,” he agreed, both of them ending the call after a short goodbye. Tywin relaxed in his chair, allowing himself a brief moment of silence before the chaos of the day truly set in. Ten minutes, that was all that he’d need to reset for the day. 

Ten minutes. 

Having followed both Director Baelish and her car’s GPS directions to a ‘T’, Sansa stepped into the quiet doctor’s office before they’d officially opened. She had barely managed to pull on leggings and one of her older brother’s ratty old flannel shirts before leaving the house, so she was certain that she looked frightful but that couldn’t be helped. She simply lacked the energy to brush her hair. She quickly looked around to see a petite brunette standing at the reception desk and upon closer inspection, she noticed that the woman’s scrubs were covered in cartoon animals--an odd juxtaposition to the sterile and modern office. 

“You must be Miss. Stark,” the woman smiled, lifting a clipboard. “Since you’re a new--err, patient, I have a bit of paperwork that we need to get out of the way before I take you back to see Dr. Lannister.” 

“Alright,” Sansa took the clipboard and a pen from the cup on the counter, sniffling back as much mucus as she could before crossing to the closest chair. Sinking to the vinyl padding with a very ungraceful ‘plop’, she filled out the questionnaire as quickly and correctly as possible. She was on the last question when the deep, steady voice of a man reached her ears. She looked up to the reception desk only for every thought to escape her mind entirely. 

_”Oh,”_ her brain short circuited, unable to stop herself from staring--no, gaping at the imposing golden form of who could only be Dr. Lannister. He was just lovely, from the neat styling of his rich blond hair, to the broad shoulders that were currently clad in a white lab coat and adorned with a stethoscope. A crisp blue button down and navy slacks were a contrast to the bright cartoon characters on his tie and Sansa couldn’t help but wonder what the _deal_ was with the cartoons. 

As if sensing her intent stare, he turned to fix her with deep emerald eyes that seemed to bore right through her. She could later blame the flush of her cheeks on her fever--surely she had one, right? Yeah, that was it. But truly he was a man in possession of the most overpowering presence, she could hardly breathe. 

“Miss. Stark,” his smooth voice came as he strode towards her. _Gods, his voice_...

“Y-yes,” she cleared her throat as best she could, wincing at the flare of burning that came with the action. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Dr. Lannister,” she managed to choke out without either embarrassing herself or being reduced to nothing but coughing. 

“It is no problem,” he assured her. “I am happy to help out Lannisport’s prima ballerina,” he added, this time drawing the receptionist’s attention to Sansa. She was still getting used to being recognized in Lannisport, it was much different than Moat Cailin had been, that was certain.

“I certainly don’t feel very ‘prima’ right now,” she gave a weak smile. 

“We’ll get you fixed up,” Dr. Lannister replied with a chuckle. “Granted you’re a bit older than my usual patients, I am certain I can handle it.” 

“O-Older?” she looked around the room with wide eyes, her gaze finally landing on the sign on the wall. One that read ‘Dr. Tywin Lannister - Pediatrics & Dr. Kevan Lannister - General Medicine’. “Dr. Tywin Lannister?” 

A pediatrician. Baelish has sent her to a pediatrician. Desperate times and ‘March Madness’, indeed.

“Guilty as charged,” his smile was warm and genuine, a smile that _did things_ to her body that she could never dare to blame on a cold. “Come now,” he noticed she had finished her paperwork. “Let’s see to that diagnosis.” 

“Alright,” she carefully stood, swaying on her feet as weakness washed over her. 

“Slowly now,” Dr. Lannister was suddenly _there_ beside her, his hand settling on her back in such a caring way that she had to fight back tears. Careful not to breathe on him--lest she truly become a ‘Typhoid Mary’, she looked up, up, up to the sharp angle of his jaw and nose. This man….her brain kicked into gear, this man was a pediatrician which meant he spent his days surrounded by children. _That_ was a visual that she could not handle in her current state. As weak as she was, her ovaries certainly had taken notice of this new revelation. _Down girls_. 

She was hardly aware that they were moving, only that Dr. Lannister’s hand on her back was gently guiding her through the doorway and towards an exam room. Her brain short-circuited and she nearly burst into laughter at the sight of one of the patient beds that was shaped like a lion. She was almost certain she wasn’t hallucinating that. Still, she was incredibly grateful when he escorted her into a room with a normal looking bed. 

“Let’s start with the basics,” Dr. Lannsiter said once she was seated on the paper covered vinyl. She watched him as if she were in a daze, following his instructions as he took her temperature, blood pressure, and checked her lungs, lymph nodes, and tonsils. With this new close proximity to each other, she could see a soft dusting of freckles across his nose and along the side of his neck where they vanished into the collar of his shirt. What a lovely soft surprise on a man so intimidating.

She noticed a few laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, though he did not have any other obvious wrinkles that she could see which led her to placing him in his early forties. A quick and hopefully unnoticed glance to his left hand where it held his stethoscope told her that he was not married, and she wondered why that had mattered so much to her. Her brain must truly be muddied because she suddenly wished that she wasn’t sick, not because of work, but because she was desperate to know what he smelled like. Like soap? Cologne? 

She really had to get her head together, this was getting out of control.

She wasn’t sure how long he worked as she continued her admiration of his person, but she was finally pulled back to the present by him asking her a question--one she didn’t quite catch. 

“I’m sorry?” she stammered. 

“I asked how long have you been dancing, Miss. Stark,” he smiled softly as he made several notes in her brand new file. 

“Since I was a baby really,” she replied. “My mother was a prima ballerina too, she used to dance with Director Baelish. He was her cavalier--her partner.” 

“It is a family business of sorts, then?” 

“Of sorts,” she agreed, doing her best to smile at him through the watery eyes and raging sinuses. 

“Good news or bad news first, Miss. Stark?” 

“Oh,” her stomach plummeted. “Good news first please, I could use a bit of that.” 

“Good news is that it’s not strep, though I am leaning towards sinus infection. So, we’re going to get you some basic antibiotics and you will start to improve in no time,” he explained, writing something out on a prescription pad before tearing it off and handing it to her. 

“And the bad news?” she frowned as she took the paper, careful not to brush his hand. She could only excuse away so much blushing in one morning. 

“I lied, there is no bad news,” he laughed, crossing his arms over his broad chest. 

“Oh,” she exhaled in relief. “Thank you very much, truly I am so grateful.” 

“I am glad to be of help,” Dr. Lannister said and after a short pause he continued. “Someone very close to me used to adore the ballet and I consider Director Baelish a friend, I am glad to be of assistance.” 

“I am in your debt, Dr. Lannister.” 

“Since I do believe that you won’t be a repeat patient, I will insist that you call me Tywin,” he uncrossed his arms and picked up her file. 

“Tywin, thank you,” Sansa smiled. 

“You’re very welcome,” he nodded. “Now, to the pharmacy with you, I have been assured that there is some sort of madness that waits for no one.” 

“‘March Madness’, and yes you’re very right on that one,” she agreed. Tywin helped her to her feet, making sure that she had solid footing before he opened the door to the exam room and followed her into the hallway. They stopped beside the reception desk where he handed off her file to the nurse and turned to her with a smile. 

“Good luck with rehearsals, Miss. Stark,” he gave a small nod of his head. “I will settle up with Baelish another time.” 

“If you're certain,” she asked, surprised at his words. 

“Quite,” he promised. 

“Thank you again,” she lamely waved her prescription paper. “I am going to see to this.” 

“And then straight to bed,” he instructed, the firm tone of his voice skittering over her flesh. In the back of her mind she realized that it was a very good thing that Tywin was a pediatrician and she would not be his regular patient, because he was certainly going to be the star of many late-night fantasies. 

What? She’d put relationships and family on hold, that didn’t mean that she was dead below the waist. And when a good looking man ordered her to bed, what was she supposed to think?

“Of course,” she agreed. “Thank you again,” she added as she stepped back, nearly bumping into a chair in the waiting room. _She is beauty, she is grace, she’s falling on her face…_. Righting herself, she made her way to the door, pausing long enough to look back and find Dr. Tywin Lannister watching her with a crooked smile. With a weak wave ‘goodbye’, she reluctantly turned away and slipped out into the early morning. 

Tywin stood beside his brother and good-sister, all of them dressed to the nines for the grand event that was the opening night of the Lannisport Ballet Company’s performance of _‘Swan Lake’_. Dorna was buzzing with excitement, grateful to have something akin to a ‘date night’ since they’d been locked away at home with their newborn son. He was fairly certain that she had been counting down the days since the arrival of the tickets a sennight ago. 

He shouldn’t have been surprised when the private courier placed a very expensive and very thick black envelope into his hands. Baelish always was one for a bit of showmanship, and sending over front row tickets in such a manner was sure to make a point. In this case, the point being that refusal would not be accepted. 

And so here he was, tuxedo clad and surprisingly anxious with the anticipation of seeing Sansa Stark again. 

She had made quite the impression on him upon the event of their first meeting almost a moon’s turn ago. As obviously miserable as she felt, she was still a singularly lovely young woman. Beautiful of course, but there was a spark of something so much more in her eyes, he found it intriguing. So much so that she had been on his mind more often than not..including during his nightly hours. It had been sometime since he’d noticed a woman in any way beyond cool disinterest, but noticed her he had. 

It should have struck him as deeply ironic that it would be a prima ballerina that would change his lack of interest in the fairer sex. Instead it seemed fitting. The only other woman to have captured him so had been an ardent admirer of the ballet and its graceful beauty; in an illogical sort of way it seemed like a sign. 

The lights in the house dimmed slightly, a signal for everyone to locate their seats so that the performance could begin. Tywin followed behind Kevan and Dorna as they reached the first row, filing into the plush velvet seats that awaited them. It was more than obvious that the house was packed, ‘Sold Out’ as the banners across the posters had said upon their entry. Dorna was bouncing with excitement as she held onto Kevan’s arm, even after they were seated, and Tywin gave a small smile at that. He was grateful to be able to share this with them both. 

Applause echoed in the theatre as the familiar slender form of Director Petyr Baelish appeared, striding to the middle of the stage with graceful confidence. Though Tywin was well aware that the man was older than himself, it was still a surprise to see how much grey had come into Baelish’s hair and Van Dyke in the years since they’d last met.

“Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen,” Baelish began. “Thank you all for being here tonight, for joining us on the illustrious occasion of this, our opening night here in Lannisport. What we have for you is sure to me a memorable performance of _‘Swan Lake’_ , featuring our very own gem, Miss. Sansa Stark, as ‘Odette’,” he paused, smile gleaming as the audience celebrated their prima ballerina. After several moments he raised his hands and the audience fell quiet. “Again, I thank you all for your unfailing support and for the love that this historic city has for the arts. I bid you a good evening and enjoy the show,” he gave a small bow and removed himself from the stage entirely. 

A moment later the orchestra struck up its first chords, carrying everyone in the Lannisport Theatre away and into the universe of _‘Swan Lake’_. 

It was enchanting. 

It was heart-wrenching. 

It was beautiful-- _she_ was beautiful. 

Sansa Stark was beyond anything that he could have imagined or expected. Granted his first and only meeting with her had not allowed her to give the best of impressions, but here before him was a woman far from the disheveled yet adorable creature he’d met in his office. Here upon the stage it was clear that she was entirely within her element. She seemed to shine with inner-radiance that made her the sole focus of his eyes every time she stepped onto the stage. 

The performance and intermission seemed to fly by, and before he knew it they were all standing on their feet as they all wildly applauded each curtain call. When finally Sansa stepped forward, gracefully curtseying with a smile as bright as the chandeliers, cheers filled the building to bursting. He found it difficult to look away from her, lost in the charm and beauty that surrounded her. 

When at last the curtain calls through and the rich velvet fabric now concealed the stage from view, he felt oddly bereft at the loss of Sansa’s presence. Preparing to leave he was surprised when Dorna gently grabbed his forearm.

“Ty,” his brother’s voice interjected and he turned to see Kevan and Dorna speaking with two suit-clad security officers. “We’re being summoned.” 

“Summoned?” Tywin’s eyes narrowed in confusion. 

“By Director Baelish and Miss. Stark,” the closer guard replied simply, booking no argument as he motioned for them to follow him. Tywin fell into step behind the others, highly aware of the guard at his back as they were escorted through a door beside the stage and into the bowels of the building. 

Backstage was a nothing less than a chaotic dance of performers and technical personnel, all of them hurrying about to put an end to the evening’s work. It was only a few twists and turns down darkened hallways before they reached the open door of Sansa Stark’s dressing room. 

“Director Baelish,” the guard in front announced their arrival and they were greeted warmly by the flamboyant director. “Here they are.”

“Ah, the Lannisters at last,” Baelish smiled and once all of the introductions were made, he continued. “We are so grateful that you could make it this evening. Did you enjoy the performance?” 

“Very much,” Dorna beamed at Sansa, awe evident in her eyes. “You were stunning.” He could not blame his good-sister, he was very much in awe as well.

“Thank you,” Sansa’s cheeks flushed beautifully.

“It is us who are grateful, we appreciate your kindness,” Kevan shook the man’s hand but Tywin could not tear his gaze away from Sansa. She had discarded the cumbersome tu-tu that she’d worn on stage and now was in a sleek silver robe that was tied tightly over her corseted waist. Even with ‘stage makeup’ she was still absolutely stunning. 

“You were perfection,” Tywin said directly to her, content to let Baelish and the others share small talk. 

“Thank you,” she beamed. “I am so glad that you came.” 

“You’re feeling better I trust?” 

“Much,” she nodded. “I daresay you worked a miracle.” 

“Hardly,” he chuckled. “In this, I would give modern pharmaceuticals its fair due.” 

“Regardless, I am still very grateful for your help. I survived ‘March Madness’ thanks to you--”

“Hey Ty, we’ll be right back,” Kevan announced suddenly. “Director Baelish is going to show us the stage.” 

“Of course,” Tywin gave a small nod as they filed from the room, his eyes flicking back to Sansa. 

“Do you not want to see the stage, Tywin?” her eyes watched him with a bright mischief that made him smile. Now with the haze of her illness gone from her eyes, he could see the sharp mind that lay beyond. 

“I would very much rather stand here and speak with you,” he paused. “But I think you already know that.” 

“Well,” her cheeks flushed just enough for it to be visible beneath her makeup. “Now that I am not teeming with germs, I can actually enjoy our conversation.”

“And now that I am not your physician in any sense of the word, I can try my hand at flirtation,” he ventured, lips curling into a smile at her soft giggle. 

“I look forward to that, though I am terribly rusty I’m afraid,” she replied. 

“Then allow me to begin,” he extended his hand. “My name is Tywin Lannister; I am a pediatrician in private practice, a lifelong resident of Lannisport, and I would very much like to take you to dinner sometime, Miss. Sansa Stark.” 

“I see. In that case,” she slipped her slender hand into his. “It is very nice to meet you Dr. Tywin Lannister. My name is Sansa Stark; I’m a ballet dancer, newer resident to Lannisport, and I accept.” 

“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” Sansa explained to her reflection. “He’s just a handsome, slightly older doctor…one who spends his days caring for children, oh Gods,” she sighed, her shoulders sagging as she decided that she hated this dress too, just as she had the four previous. She had to find the perfect dress, it had to be _perfect_. 

She was not entirely sure why her ovaries had decided to spring into excited overdrive at the sight of Tywin Lannister, but she wasn’t about to deny herself the chance to spend time in his company. Well, time in his company while she was coughing up Gods know what. 

Let’s face it, the man cared about people--obviously since he worked as a physician _and_ he could wear the hell out of a tuxedo. _Hello fantasies, my name is Sansa Stark and I have a problem…_ Not to mention he wasn’t some fly-by-night playboy looking for his next one night stand...at least, he didn’t come off that way to her. Her mother’s words of advice suddenly came to mind, ones she often told Sansa in half-jest: ‘Marry an older man, Sansa. They’re steadfast, more confident in who they are, and have gotten the necessary wild oats sowing out of the way’. She hadn’t given them much thought before but suddenly they made a whole heap of sense.

Changing quickly, she was sure not to mess up the curls she’d painstakingly put into her long hair as she pulled on a simple black sheath dress that fell to her mid thighs. It was modest but still sexy, not to mention comfortable enough to wear in the Lannisport spring humidity. He hadn’t said where he was taking her, only that there was no need to ‘dress up’. Why did men just assume that ‘dress up’ explained the entirety of the dress code for the evening? 

“Not bad,” she muttered, taking in her reflection. “Not bad at all. Not too short, not too ‘Silent Sister’. I think we have a winner!” While her occupation ensured that her feet were far from ‘high heel friendly’, this dress was flattering and would pair well with modest flats; that worked well enough for her. 

Tywin Lannister was quite tall, much more so than her, and it was something she found she appreciated. She’d always been on the tall side, almost too tall for ballet, but she’d managed to make it work. Just like she’d make this sheath dress work. 

“Can’t forget earrings,” she was nervously talking to herself as she finished getting ready, doing all she could to ignore the tremor in her hands. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone on a date, let alone shared a meal with a man that _did things_ to her in the way Tywin did. 

‘Did things’, what a massive understatement. That was like saying a tornado was ‘just a bit of wind’.

Slipping simple gold studs into her ears and black flats onto her feet, she stepped to the mirror and examined the whole look. Crisp and clean makeup, nothing as garish as the stage pancake she wore three nights a week. Sleek and smooth curls, thank you lack of absurd humidity Lannisport. Flattering dress, comfortable flat shoes--praise the Gods. 

“Here we go,” Sansa took a deep breath as her doorbell rang, signalling the official start of her evening with Dr. Lannister. Snagging her clutch from the corner of her bed, she crossed the living room and to the front door. Unlocking the deadbolt she opened the door to see the golden lion himself waiting there. He looked delicious in a dark suit and white button down; he had foregone a tie which made her feel much better about her less-than-formal dress. 

“Good Evening,” he greeted, producing flowers--red camellias, from behind his back. 

“Oh, they’re beautiful,” she took them, making sure to smell them as she stepped back inside the entryway. 

“As you are, if I may be so bold.” 

“Thank you” she was flushed to an embarrassing degree and she barely resisted the urge to press a hand to her cheeks. Maybe her fever was coming back… “Please, come in, let me put these in a vase” she closed the door behind him before making her way to the kitchen. She was aware that while her condo was clean, her ballet bag was also on the floor by the door and several novels lay scattered upon the surface of the coffee table. 

“I had thought,” Tywin began as he followed her to the kitchen. “That we could walk up the street a bit. If you’re willing, there is a new Dornish place that’s just opened and I am quite partial to their cuisine.” 

“Same!” she smiled, placing her flowers in a water-filled vase and setting them on the marble countertop. “I have been waiting for them to open, it seems like the perfect occasion to try it.” 

“Then we’re in accordance,” he said in that particularly formal way with which he spoke. She found it charming, as it meshed perfectly with the cadence of his deep voice. 

“We are,” she returned to his side. 

“Shall we?” 

“Of course,” she agreed. Within minutes her home was locked up safely and they were walking arm-in-arm up the street towards their destination. It was a moderate night in Lannisport, the warmth of an early spring day fading away to a pleasant evening; perfect for walking. 

Their walk was filled with the usual first date small talk--safe topics of course, as you didn’t want to dive in all at once. Tywin spoke of his brother and their practice, Sansa in turn told him about working for the Lannisport Ballet Company. She could tell by the way he spoke of his brother and good-sister that they were a tight knit family. She appreciated that; it wasn’t very common in the modern world but since she was close to her family, it was nice to find someone else who was as well.

Arriving at the restaurant she was relieved to see that their attire was in-fact overdressed for the atmosphere--better overdressed than underdressed her mother always said. They were seated alongside the massive windows that overlooked the beaches and the sunset. Tywin shrugged out of his coat and placed it over the back of his chair before taking the seat across from her.

“You can’t beat the view,” she noted as she looked out over the water. 

“I couldn’t agree more,” Tywin agreed, but when she looked back at him she noticed that he was looking at her rather than the water, which of course meant that her cheeks were once again bright red. 

“So tell me,” she began with the confident clearing of her throat. They had been talking for some time, long enough for their food to arrive and she felt emboldened to ask a very obvious question. “Handsome, successful doctor--you’re obviously intelligent and well-spoken, so I am curious as to why you’re single,” she asked and was met with a long pause. Too long. “I’m sorry,” she backtracked. “Too heavy for our first date?” 

“Not at all,” Tywin assured her, leaning onto his forearms on the table. “The simple answer is that it is through personal choice, really. The more complicated answer is that I was engaged some years ago and she passed away in an accident.” 

“I am so sorry,” her heart ached for him. 

“While I thank you, there is no need,” he assured her. “It was some time ago and while it has affected me--I cannot deny that, I have come to terms with it and it does not control my life.” 

“I understand,” Sansa nodded, oddly grateful that they had gotten that explanation out of the way. She could not imagine the pain that Tywin had endured in his past and she had to fight back the urge to take his hand and comfort him. 

“As a firm believer in turn about being fair play,” he continued, a smirk toying at the corner of his lips. “I could ask the same question of you.” 

“I suppose that _is_ fair,” she smiled. “I have only lived in Lannisport a few years, my focus being entirely upon settling into my new position here under Director Baelish.” 

“And before that?” 

“I promised myself in school that I was going to be the best ballerina in the world,” she idly fiddled with her napkin in her lap. “Dalliances or any sort of relationship took a back seat to that. Still did actually, until quite recently.” 

“Oh? How recently?” he countered, raising a golden brow in suspicion. 

“As recently as ‘March Madness’,” she said honestly. 

“I see,” he smiled then. It was a slow and predatory smile that had her insides curling in on themselves, writhing and overheating to the point that she shifted in her seat. It was fortunate that the waitress arrived at that moment to check in on them, because she was dangerously close to climbing across the table and throwing herself at Dr. Tywin Lannister’s mercy.

“Tiny Dancer,” he called out as he let himself in the front door of Sansa’s condo. 

“I’m in the kitchen, Doc!” she called back, the smile in her voice evident as it was every time he used the absurd pet name that had become his favorite term of endearment for her. Closing and locking the door, he kicked off his shoes before going in search of her. 

They’d been seeing each other for several moons now, taking advantage of any time that they could to be together. While Sansa’s weekly rehearsal schedule was consistent enough, on performance days he usually was unable to see her at all. Something that--according to Kevan, made Tywin ‘grumpy’. 

Tonight, however, was different. Last night _‘Swan Lake’_ had officially finished its production run and there were currently no demands on Sansa’s time for the next sennight at least. Well, at the very least no demands from the LBC. He had long been planning and waiting for this weekend, as had Sansa. He had no scheduled appointments for the next three days and they planned on spending it alone at his home along the shore. Sansa had been at his house plenty of times, as he had hers, but this would be their first weekend ‘getaway’ together. 

At the onset of their relationship they had agreed to taking things slowly and now that they were both ready, they would take the next step--the big step, at last. He was greatly looking forward to being able to experience all that he could with Sansa. Especially without constraints on their time together, it meant he was able to be quite _thorough_.

“You’re early,” she beamed as he entered the kitchen. She had just fixed herself tea and a matching mug was also placed into his hands. Her hair was down today, hanging to the middle of her back in soft waves that seemed to float around her as she set the kettle aside.

“I am anxious for our stay-cation,” he admitted, carefully guiding her close enough to steal a kiss. He idly toyed with the ends of her hair, letting the silk dance across his fingers. While they had not taken their physical relationship to its final step, there was no shortage of displays of affection between them. They would find some way to touch one another more often than not, soft reassurances that the other was truly there with them. 

“Me too. You have no idea,” she replied, the smile upon her lips could almost be described as lecherous. “Just you, me, and the beach for the foreseeable future. Doesn’t that sound like paradise?”

“Absolutely,” he nodded in agreement. “Are you all packed?” 

“Maybe,” she sipped her own tea. “Am I really going to need that much clothing?” 

“No.” 

“Then yes, I am packed,” her cheeks and collarbones flushed, drawing his attention to the light sundress that hung from barely-there straps on her shoulders. There was something about the soft porcelain of her skin that always drew him in, and before he could stop himself he had leaned closer to tug the strap aside so that he could place a featherlight kiss across her collarbone. 

“Doc,” she sighed, swaying closer. “I think we should go…” 

“Go?” he teased. “Go where?” his lips brushed her shoulder as he spoke and he had the great pleasure of watching the gooseflesh travel across her skin. “I am perfectly content where I am.” 

“You and I both know that’s not true,” she exhaled roughly. “We could be much happier on a more horizontal surface.” 

“My darling girl, while I may be older than you, I am still perfectly capable of taking you against the wall,” he set his mug on the counter and let his hand fall to the hem of her dress, bunching the fabric until he could burrow beneath the fabric to caress the curve of her ass. The very bare curve of her ass. “Bad girl,” he playfully chided as he kneaded the tender flesh. 

“Doc,” the sound escaped her as an almost broken groan. Her eyes swung to his and the vibrant blue that he adored so much had darkened to near-black with obvious desire. “Please?” 

“‘Please’ she says,” Tywin all but purred, guiding her backward until she was pressed against the counter beside the stove, trapped between it and his larger frame. He had never given much thought to how slender a ballerina would be, but in the time that he had gotten to know Sansa, the comparison of her frame to his never ceased to remind him how much smaller she was. 

Smaller, yes, but hardly delicate. He had watched her dance on more than one occasion, he knew the strength that lay within her willowy frame. 

Stil…

“Ty,” she whimpered as he raised her thigh to rest high against his side, opening her completely to his ministrations. 

“Since you asked so nicely,” he whispered. Allowing her to hold her leg up, he slid his fingers back down her hip, past the curve of her ass, and into her inner folds. Her breathing hitched as he stopped just shy of that elusive bundle to cup her, choosing to savor the heat of her for just a moment. 

His eyes never left hers as he stroked and taunted her. Her hands shot to her sides, anchoring herself against the edge countertop as her hips rocked against his fingers. He watched the play of emotion and desire on her features, watched the flush spread across her skin like wildfire until it vanished into the neckline of her dress. 

While he wanted nothing more than to shove his slacks aside and sink into her until they were one being, he was even more determined that the first time he did so would be when she was spread across his large bed. When the time came he fully intended to take his time with her, but there was nothing wrong than giving her just enough to have her pliant and begging the moment he had her on her back. 

“Sansa, look at me,” he instructed and her head looked back enough that her hair brushed the countertop behind her. “That’s my girl,” he encouraged. Her eyes were dark, cheeks flushed, and lips parted as she panted to catch her breath. 

He intentionally surged forward and deliberately circled her soaked clitoris; over and over he worked her, watching in rapt fascination as her lips parted on a silent sob, eyes fluttering closed as her head fell back. His cock was hard and insistent against his slacks but it would have to wait. This moment was about Sansa’s pleasure and a preview of what the weekend held for them both. 

It took her in stages, each one felt as a pulse against his hand and fingers. A hitch in her breathing, a shudder across her spine, the tightening of her leg at his side, and then a broken cry—his name, spilling from her lips as she soaked his fingers and her thighs. 

“Beautiful,” he closed the distance between their faces, kissing a trail across her jawline as she trembled in his arms. “Absolutely beautiful.” 

“Gods, Ty,” she inhaled, turning her lips to meet his. They shared several lazy, lingering kisses—some deep and others a barely there brush that held promise of more. 

“My darling girl,” he removed his hand—albeit reluctantly, from her core. He paused only to give her ass a playful smack before wrapping his arms around her. “Just wait until I get you into my bed,” he promised. 

“Oh Gods,” she whimpered, swallowing audibly. 

“Now what do you say, shall we start that getaway of ours?” 

Sansa woke slowly, stretching like a contented cat beneath the plush sheets and blankets of her lover’s bed. Every inch of her body thrummed with satisfaction, the likes of which she’d never known. 

From the minute they’d arrived at Tywin’s secluded house along the beaches of Lannisport, they’d relentlessly seen to each others’ pleasure. Sun up or sun down, it did not matter. The last barrier of their relationship had come down and they were thoroughly lost in the passion of their joint physical pleasure. 

What few dalliances that lingered is her past paled in comparison to the past two days. Her lover—her boyfriend, he knew her body and her mind, using this knowledge of both to drive her beyond this world and to a realm of pure sensation. Whether it be with his fingers, tongue, or cock, she had found her pinnacle with them all many times over, leaving her nothing but a mere puddle of satisfaction. 

But it wasn’t just the sex—the making love to Tywin that had her heart feeling lighter than it had before, it was everything they’d shared this weekend and before in the course of their relationship. The friendship, the companionship, the intellectual foreplay and all of the soft, quiet moments in between where they simply existed beside each other. Where they basked in what she would call...well, love. 

Rolling to her back, she found the bed beside her empty but a quick test told her that Tywin’s pillow was still slightly warm. He hadn’t gone far, she was sure of that, so she indulged herself in several more moments of relaxing against the mattress. She’d never slept in a king-sized bed before and she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to go back to her queen-size after this. 

Footsteps sounded in the hallway and she barely had time to sit up, using the sheets to cover her nudity a few seconds before Tywin appeared in the doorway. He was clad only in his black boxer briefs and in each hand was a steaming mug of coffee. 

“Awake at last,” he smirked as he gingerly set the mugs on the bedside table on ‘his’ side of the bed. 

“Just,” she watched his lean frame slip back into the bed beside her. Tywin was an impressive man, clothed or not, she couldn’t help but admire him. He wasn’t bulky and overmuscled, nor was he too lean or slim; he wore his broad frame well, emanating a powerful aura.

“You’re so beautiful in the morning light,” he kissed her, pulling her across his lap. She adjusted quickly, pushing the sheets away to straddle him. This put her breasts at near-face level and he didn’t waste time before pulling the swollen tip of one between his lips. 

“Ty,” she tunneled her hands into his golden blonde hair and arched into him as he suckled at her. She had, at one time, been ashamed that her slender body was not the voluptuous sort that men fantasize about—such was the role of the ballet dancer. But in Tywin’s arms she felt anything but lacking. 

Broad hands trailed up her back, securing her against him as he worshipped her breasts. Lighting raced through her, pure heat and fire that settled between her legs where she once again ached for him. Using what little brain power she had left, she frantically reached between them to pull his more-than-ready cock through the placket in his briefs, stroking it where it stood proudly between them. 

Tywin pulled back, releasing one of her nipples with an audible ‘pop’, to watch her as she shifted over him. Guiding him with a firm hand, she aligned the swollen head of him at her slit and slowly—torturously, sank onto him. 

“Fuck,” he hissed and she savoured the word. The first time she heard the always-composed Tywin Lannister swear was last night when he had been buried inside of her, utterly lost to pleasure. It drove her wild. His hands were instantly at her hips, pulling her completely onto his cock until she was utterly impaled. 

“S’good, so good,” she mewled, running her hands up his stomach to his chest, finally stopping when she was clinging to his broad shoulders. 

“Fuu...” he never finished the word, ending it instead on a feral growl as she rocked her hips against his. He clung to her with near desperation, just as he had the night previous as he wildly fucked her into the mattress. It had been divine, her face had been pressed to the sheets as he pounded into her with abandon. She could still feel him in the backs of her thighs, it was the most delicious sort of possession.

Now—this morning, however, she kept her movements languid and deep. She held to his neck and shoulders, occasionally tugging at his hair to direct his mouth to hers. They were one body, one breath, one soul. 

“Ty,” she whispered and his eyes darted from where they’d lingered in her breasts to her face. “My Ty,” she ran her hands through his hair, unceasing in her lazy riding of his cock. 

“My darling girl,” his voice was deep and rough, emotion heavy in his eyes. It was the depth of emotion there that was the encouragement she needed, the confidence booster that drove her forward. 

“I love you, Ty,” she clung to him, the first flutters of her climax dancing through her body. “My Ty...oh Gods,” she ground down against him which was just enough to send her over the edge. She held him deep within her body, coming around him in rhythmic contractions that stole her breath. The world tilted and suddenly she was in her back, Tywin’s fiery emerald eyes flashing as he watched her. 

“You’re all mine,” he muttered as her legs wrapped around him. “Mine,” he promised over and over, rutting wildly into her still-climaxing body. The bed shook with each movement, hips slapping together in such a manner that the sound was positively pornographic. Sansa could only hold onto him and try to catch her breath, even as she felt another climax clawing at her core. 

“Oh, Gods—Ty!“ she stifled her screams against his shoulder as her body seized in pleasure. She barely registered his roar of pleasure as she shoved deep enough to make her squirm, pouring his own climax into her in heated bursts of seed that soon overflowed from her channel. She eventually returned to her body in a haze of pleasure and to the soft whispered words from his lover’s lips. 

“I love you,” he nuzzled her cheek before kissing her lax lips. “Gods, do I love you.” 

“Doc,” Sansa closed her eyes against a tidal wave of emotion, holding tightly to him in a desperate attempt to forever imprint this moment upon the very fabric of her being, that way she’d never forget it. 

“Stay with me?” he continued. “Stay here forever?”

“Forever.”

“You’re nervous, look at you,” Kevan chuckled, observing as Tywin tried to decide which tie to wear this evening. 

“You’re not helping, you know,” Tywin paused long enough to glare at his younger brother before returning to his difficult decision. 

“What do you want me to say? I’ve never seen you like this,” Kevan shrugged. “I don’t remember if I was this nervous before I proposed to Dorna.”

“Forgive me if I’m wrong but did you not propose to her in bed after you two had...well,” Tywin waved his hand in the air between them rather than say it aloud.

“Fair enough,” Kevan admitted. “Look Ty, you’ve been dating a while, it’s clear that Sansa is gone for you, so I don’t see what you have to be so nervous about.”

“I am nervous because I’m about to ask my girlfriend, with whom I share a residence—a woman a bit younger and far more successful than myself, to marry me and eventually start a family. A family that will require that she put her career on hold.”

“She’s not going to say ‘no’, Ty,” Kevan repeated, shaking his head. “It’s not possible.”

“I wish I had your confidence,” Tywin scoffed. 

“You’ll see. Trust me, soon enough you’ll see that I’m right,” Kevan stepped forward, taking the red tie from Twyin’s left hand and wrapping it around his neck. “Red is always a good Lannister color” he said as he tied it and smoothed the silk.

“I did this once before and I lost her,” Tywin admitted softly. “I don’t want to lose Sansa. I simply cannot.”

“You won’t,” Kevan replied confidently. “So take a deep breath and try to relax. Think of your blood pressure. You’re entering prime heart attack years, you know?”

“You’re not helping!” Tywin glared which sent Kevan into hysterical laughter. “That’s it, I’ve decided. You’re adopted. That’s what’s wrong with you.”

“Oh, please,” Kevan pauses his laughing long enough to roll his eyes. “We look enough alike to be twins, if I’m adopted then so are you, Ty.”

“There’s no way we're related,” Tywin continued as he pulled on his suit jacket. “Absolutely no way.”

“We’ve had the same medical training, you know as well as I do that we’re full-fledged brothers.”

“Doubtful,” Tywin smirked as he adjusted his cuffs. “Now tell me, how do I look?” 

“Like a man about to be engaged,” Kevan smiled. “I’m happy for you, Ty. Truly. Good luck tonight, not that you’ll need it. I’m glad you found her, your Sansa.”

“As am I, trust me,” Tywin replied dryly. “I’d better go, I wouldn’t want to be late tonight of all nights.”

“True,” Kevan agreed. “Hey Ty!” he called out as Tywin stepped away, “Forgetting something?” He picked up the velvet ring box from the dresser and tossed it to Tywin who deftly caught it. 

“Thanks,” Tywin said with a nod, tucking the box into his pocket before continuing on his way. “Lock up after yourself will you, you adopted vagabond!” he threw over his shoulder as he left the house and his brother's laughter behind. 

The drive went quickly, they didn’t live too terribly far from the theatre and that is where Sansa had been all day. The benefit of having a dressing room, she reasoned, is that she can prepare for their date there and save time. 

“Date,” Tywin chuckled as he turned into the employee entrance of the theatre. Tonight was no mere ‘date’, that much was for certain. And as confident as he wanted to be in Sansa’s certain acceptance, it was still incredibly nerve wracking. 

The logical side of his brain served to remind him that Sansa had lived beside him for many moons, having moved into his house along the shore with him. She had chosen to share a home and a life with him, that had to mean something, right? 

The panicked portion of his brain however...it was not so kind.

He had just parked and exited the driver’s side as Sansa emerged from the back door of the theatre. Tywin was certain that his jaw fell to the pavement at the sight of her, stunned at how she looked more sultry than he’d ever seen in a dress of rich burgundy velvet that clung dangerously to her body. His mouth was dry, very dry, as he watched her walk towards him—that dancer’s grace of hers was going to be the death of him, that was for certain. 

“Ty,” she wrapped her arms around him as soon as she was close enough and he did the same in return. 

“You’re stunning,” he buried a hand in her hair and stole a kiss. “Absolutely stunning.”

“You did say it was a very posh restaurant, I dressed accordingly,” she beamed. 

“Maybe I should just take you home instead,” he muttered the words before he could stop them.

“Absolutely not,” she snuggled closer. “You promised me a romantic dinner.”

“We could have ‘romantic’ in bed…”

“Ty,” she gently chided. “You’ve been planning tonight for weeks; besides, we can take dessert to-go and enjoy that in bed.” 

“You’ve talked me into it,” he escorted her to the passenger side, opening the car door and helping her into the plush leather seat. Once confident she was tucked safely inside, he closed the door and rounded to return to his position in the driver's seat. 

Piloting the car back onto the roadway, he smiled to himself as Sansa’s hand slipped into his where it rested near the center console. Their fingers twined together as they always did: effortlessly. 

Their drive to the restaurant was filled with conversation for their respective work days, Tywin listening intently as Sansa relayed a story about one of the understudies falling into the orchestra pit and the chaos that had followed. 

Guiding the sedan into the valet entrance, they were able to exit the car simultaneously thanks to the assistant of a restaurant employee, and by the time Tywin reached her it was to offer his arm so they could walk inside together. 

Nerves bubbled up in his stomach as they were escorted to their private table—as requested, Sansa’s expression as she turned to gape at him was priceless. The hostess departed, leaving behind a pair of menus and the promise of a waiter's impending arrival. 

“Oh Ty,” Sansa sighed, drinking in the restaurant's ambiance. “It’s beautiful.” 

“Only the best for my Tiny Dancer,” he teased. 

“Funny,” she smirked across the table at him. It was their inside joke of sorts, their homebodieness. They were not a pair that thrived on expensive meals and shows of wealth. While they were both independently wealthy, they much preferred the quiet company of each other and a home-cooked meal at the end of the day. Tonight, obviously, was a special occasion—though she did not know it yet. 

As previously arranged, the wine steward arrived with a bottle of Arbor Gold wine, pouring them each a glass before vanishing. While it was customary to propose after dinner had been consumed, Tywin would in this be unique. He wanted to be able to share the meal with her as a celebration, not as a prelude. 

“A toast, I should think,” Tywin cleared his throat as he raised his glass. Sansa followed suit, watching him closely. “To us,” he began. “To _‘Swan Lake’_ , ‘March Madness’, and the common cold. To the year past and the years to come, may we spend them in the happiness we have so far. I love you, Tiny Dancer.” 

“Doc,” she swallowed, a tear escaping to trail down her cheek. “I love you too, Ty. To us,” she clinked her glass against his and they both took a drink. Or at least she believed they did. Tywin waited until she closed her eyes as she always did at that first sip, then pulled the box from his pocket. Opening it he set it on the table facing her and waited. 

He did not have to wait long. Thank the Gods...

As Sansa moved to set her glass aside, her eyes opened and met his for a brief moment before noticing the ring on the table. 

“Oh my Gods!” she all but yelled, her glass forgotten as her hands rushed to cover her mouth. 

“Miss. Sansa Stark,” he slipped from his chair and knelt beside where she sat. 

“Tywin, oh my Gods,” she was crying in earnest now, eyes bright with happiness. “Yes!”

“You haven’t even let me ask yet, impatient little thing,” he chuckled even though relief had already begun to course through his system. Sansa’s eagerness to accept spurred his confidence. 

“I’m sorry,” she straightened her posture and wiped her cheeks. “Alright, go ahead. I’m ready,” she laughed and he couldn’t help but join her. 

“ _Miss. Sansa Stark,”_ he began again. “Would you do me the great honor of becoming my bride—my wife?”

“Yes,” fresh tears spilled down her cheeks as she frantically nodded. “ _Of course yes!_ ”

“In that case,” Tywin pulled his grandmother’s ring—a gold and emerald concoction, from the velvet padding and carefully slipped it onto the third finger of her left hand before standing. Sansa was immediately on her feet as well, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“I love you,” she repeated over and over, stealing a half dozen kisses. 

“I love you too,” he held her close. “Now, lets share our first meal as an officially engaged couple.”

“I’d love to!”

“Sansa?” the deep, familiar voice broke into her musings. She looked up to see him standing just inside the room behind her, already dressed for dinner. What time was it? She dropped her leg from the barre and turned away from the mirror to greet him.

“Did I lose track of time again?” she laughed softly as she removed her ear buds which automatically paused the classical music that had been playing. The LBC was closing in on another ‘March Madness’ and she was doing all that she could to be ahead of the game. Rehearsals for ‘Romeo & Juliet’ we’re going well, but that didn’t mean it was acceptable for the prima to rest on her laurels. 

“Just a bit,” Tywin stepped inside the in-home dance studio, a soft smile on his face. The studio had been a surprise gift from Tywin upon the occasion of their wedding. On the first day of their honeymoon in Dorne, he had produced the blueprints for the renovation of their then-vacant rec room that would begin a few sennights later. He would have simply gone forward with building before, but was certain she would have noticed the construction and spoiled the surprise. 

Sansa had cried with happiness, overwhelmed by how much her life had changed for the better since Tywin had arrived in it. She had never imagined meeting someone that would encourage her dedication to her work, to help her foster that passion even within the walls of their home. She should have known Tywin would be different. From their first meeting he had haunted her thoughts, and once they had moved forward in their dating and then formal relationship, their lives settled into relative peace with ease. 

Relative of course because they were both incredibly stubborn and passionate people. Every couple had their tiffs and share of disagreements, it was a part and parcel of sharing your life with someone. But no matter the argument, they promised each other that they would never go to bed angry, and they didn’t. More often than not they would stay up as late as they needed to to find a resolution, and then fall into bed together to focus on more delightful activities. 

Though Tywin was just over fifteen years her senior, he had waited a long time to love again after he lost Joanna, there was no shortage of affection in their relationship or marriage. Let it never be said that her husband was not more than talented in many ways. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, moving to stand before him. “I can clean up a bit and we can go.”

“It’s Kevan and Dorna, they’ll understand if we’re a little late,” Tywin reasoned, taking her earbuds he tucked them into his pocket before twining their hands to turn her so that she faced the mirrors once more. 

“Oh,” Sansa gasped as her husband's arms wrapped around her from behind. 

“I should’ve known that a wall of mirrors would be a lovely addition to our home,” he whispered, placing a kiss just below her ear. “The hours of pleasure we’ve enjoyed here were...” 

“Ty…”

“You know I can never resist the temptation of you...dressed like this,” he ran a hand over the front of her black leotard, briefly cupping a breast before venturing further to tug the tie on her pink wrap sweater loose. “Flushed and glowing like the goddess that you are,” he added. Spreading the fabric of her sweater wide, he traced every inch of her he could reasonably reach, which given his great height, was nearly every bit of her. 

“Is that so?” she sighed as he nuzzled her newly bared shoulder, the soft brush of his recently grown beard tickling her. 

“Mmhmm,” he walked them forward—her rather awkwardly in her pointe shoes, not stopping until he was placing her hands to rest on the barre. “Stay,” he instructed in that sinfully deep voice that never failed to turn her insides to mush. 

She held to the barre as he tugged her sweater to her elbows, tracing the flesh of her arms as did so. It was fortunate that her hair was pinned into a bun, as it allowed her husband free reign of her neck and shoulders. Her legs nearly melted entirely when he pulled the soft love of her ear into the warmth of his mouth tugging gently. The mirror would surely be her undoing, being able to see the fire in his emerald eyes as he tortured her magnified every sensation. 

“Ty!” she gasped, arching against him to grind herself against his groin. There was no mistaking that her husband was enjoying this as much as she was. 

“Ssh,” he soothed, fingers hooking into the collar of her black leotard and dragging the material down until her breasts spilled free. Since she was merely practicing at home, she hadn’t bothered with a bra beyond what was built into her worn old leotard, something that was quite convenient now. 

Sansa whimpered, leaning against his strength as his strong hands cupped and caressed her. He whispered a litany of filthy promises against her earlobe as he teased and rolled her nipples. Tywin was usually the one to take control in the bedroom, at first because she was practically without experience and later because they both highly preferred it. Her husband was an imposing, confident man, something she had always found incredibly sexy. 

“Such lovely breasts,” the words barely registered as she clenched her thighs together, desperate for some relief. “Always so responsive…”

“Ty, please,” she begged, watching him in the mirror, pleading with her eyes. 

“I wonder,” he moved a hand from her breast to her core, tracing the edge of her leotard until he found what he was looking for. “Perfect,” he pulled the snaps at the crotch free then traced her folds through the thin material of her tights. Surely she was already soaked, more than ready and desperate for release. 

“Oh Gods,” she sobbed as he idly circled her clit, his smug leonin smile driving her wild. 

“I”ve said that the flush of your cheeks as you dance is lovely, but watching you coming apart like this—so unbelievably sexy,” his fingers never ceased working her as he spoke, one hand worshipping her breasts and the other pushing her closer and closer to her peak. “I want you to come, little wife—“

“Please, I want to,” she begged. 

“Then be a good girl and come for your husband,” he suckled her ear lobe once more, finger unrelenting on her clit until she felt her orgasm bubble up and break free. Her eyes squeezed shut as it took her, body shaking violently against his broad frame. So lost to her pleasure, she barely registered his shifting as he unbuckled his slacks and bunched her tights down at her thighs. “Open your eyes, look at me,” Tywin demanded and her body overused as always. Forcing her eyes open—even as she tried to catch her breath, she met his eyes in the mirror. 

She felt as he notched the head of his cock at her soaked core, dragging the swollen head back and forth across her swollen bundle of nerves. 

“Ty...please…”

“En _pointe_ ,” he instructed and her feet obeyed before she could tell them to, raising her height to close the gap between them. “You’re soaked for me, my good little wife,” he wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her hips back, allowing him to sink into her fully. 

“Gods,” her hands tightened on the barre, back arching at the delicious sensation of being filled to the brim with her husband’s cock. 

“Perfection, as always,” he groaned against her bare shoulder, littering it with kisses as he held her tightly to him. “Gods save me from the flexibility of my little ballerina.” He began slowly but stayed deep, rocking within her at a steady pace. The heat of his breath skated across her skin, leaving goose flesh in its wake that was punctuated only by gentle bites and soft kisses. 

She felt every inch of him, the slow drag of swollen flesh against that elusive spot within her that has her inner thighs shaking with desperation. Wrapped in his arms, safe and protected from the world beyond, she watched in the mirror as they made love. The odd juxtaposition of their bodies was obvious; Tywin’s body was much larger and broader, while her body was slender muscle and porcelain skin. He was a man who spent his days healing and protecting the children of Lannisport while Sansa’s body was honed only to dance and entertain. 

Still as different as they were, they moved together in perfect harmony, in their own dance that they had long perfected. 

Her body quickly reached fever pitch, weight sagging against Tywin as her legs became the consistency of overcooked noodles. It was only her impeccable balance that kept her from losing complete control. He took that as encouragement, thrusting harder and deeper until they were all-out _fucking_. 

“That’s a good girl,” Tywin encouraged. “That’s it…”

“I’m so close,” she sobbed, her head lolling back to rest against him. 

“Then come, come again for me,” he replied, dropping a deft finger to just above where they were joined, quickly finding her clitoris and forcing her over the edge. 

She screamed out, the sound echoing on the hardwood flooring, her entire body consumed by her orgasm. Colors exploded behind her eyes, hre forehead fell to the cool mirror, and the air rushed from her lungs. Her husband's arm tightened around her and he shoved deep, growling out a feral sound out against her shoulder as he too trembled with the force of his release. 

Sansa struggled to catch her breath as he pulsed within her, coating her insides with his essence until it overflowed and dripped down the insides of her thighs. She lifted her head, watching the pearly liquid in the mirror before them, following its path until it was absorbed by her tights. 

“Fuck,” Tywin breathed on a ragged exhale. He so rarely swore, she treasured these brief moments they shared where he was completely undone by their passion. Moving her hands from the barre at last, she rested one over his forearm at her waist while the other covered his hand at her core, stilling his fingers. 

“Ty,” she said softly, watching him as he lifted his eyes to hers. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he replied, turning to rest his forehead against her temple for several seconds. His eyes fluttered shut, allowing her to admire the pure peace etched into his features. “Gods do I love you” he promised without opening his eyes, almost as if he sensed her own inner peace. 

That was the rarest gift in this world, she mused in her post-orgasmic haze. To find someone who understood you, loved you, and could share peace with you; that was the greatest gift. She hadn’t expected to, but the morning she woke up with the belief that her day was ruined before she’d opened her eyes, she’d found _him_. ‘March Madness’ had tried to pull her under the tide of chaos, but then there he was; the man she hadn’t realized that she’d been looking for was suddenly right before her. 

That was worth any sore throat. 

“Dr. Lannister,” he turned at the knock that sounded a second before Jeyne entered, surprised that she would interrupt him while he was with a patient. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s a call for you and it’s quite urgent.”

“I see,” he nodded to the pale receptionist and made his excuses to the patient and their parents before following Jeyne to his private office. 

“Line 2, Dr. Lannister,” she said softly and then left him to his emergency. 

“Tywin Lannister,” he answered the line. 

“Tywin, it’s Petyr Baelish,” the normally smooth voice of the flamboyant director was rough, broken and Tywin's blood ran cold. 

“What’s happened?” he clipped out the words, leaning forward to grip the edges of his desk with an iron hold. There was no mistaking the action, he was bracing himself for the worst. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe through his mouth, but there was no way of stopping unbidden memories and sheer terror for bubbling up in his veins. 

“There’s been an accident,” Baelish began and Tywin's stomach rolled with bile-driven nausea. “I assure you she’s alright, but she’s being transported to Lannisport General Hospital just to be safe.”

“What. Happened.”

“More ‘March Madness’, I’m afraid,” Baelish sounded exhausted and Tywin almost felt badly for the man. “Renly misstepped during a lift...he dropped her.”

“He dropped her,” Tywin breathlessly repeated the words. “‘March Madness’ indeed. More like ‘March Madness and Stupidity’.” 

“She hit her head in addition to landing on her hip, she was awake and talking, but they were taking her in to be safe,” Baelish explained. “As her husband, I was certain that you’d want to know right away.”

“Obviously,” Tywin growled. “I’m leaving here now, if I speed I’ll likely get there before she does,” he checked the time, trying to remember if he knew any of the doctors currently on duty in the E.R. Greyjoy, Martell, Hornwood….hells he had no idea who was working. 

“I’ll deal with Renly,” Baelish sighed. 

“You’d better,” Tywin replied. “Thank you for calling me,” he threw out quickly before slamming the receiver back down onto the phone. Tywin did his best to ignore the tremor in his hand as he reached for his car keys, adrenaline making it very hard to think. 

“Ty,” Kevan said from the doorway and he looked at his brother to see him ready to leave, hand extended for the keys. “You’re not driving, let’s go,” he motioned to the parking lot. 

“Right, yes,” Tywin handed over the keys and blindly followed Kevan. Jeyne was already hard at work rescheduling the rest of their afternoon; bless her for that, there were sure to be some rough phone calls. 

It was fortunate that their offices were only a mile or so from the hospital proper; it meant that the agonizing drive went quickly. They were able to take advantage of the physicians parking lot adjacent to the emergency room, parking quickly before rushing inside. His blood ran cold at the sight of the ambulance backed into the closest bay, the rear doors open and no sign of paramedics in sight. Perhaps she’d beaten him here after all. 

The two Lannister brothers striding into the emergency room—him still in his white coat, must have been an odd sight to behold as he absently realized that everyone was staring, even the nurses. 

“Sansa Lannister, where is she?” Tywin demanded of the closest nurse who just happened to be walking by with a blood pressure cart. 

“I..um…” her eyes darted nervously around.

“The ballet dancer, where is she?!” Tywin asked again and the younger woman paled considerably. 

“Ty,” Kevan’s hand closed around Tywin’s upper arm and he was being guided to a private room down the hallway. Upon entrance they found Sansa’s pale slender body was now clad in a cloth hospital gown, laying in the center of the bed. Her feet were still wrapped and bandaged the way she did each time she danced, her pointe shoes laying on the cheap mattress beside her ankles. Her leotard and tights had likely been cut away and discarded so that they could properly inspect her injuries. She looked so impossibly small, his heart ached with a pain that he could never have described with words. 

Tywin did his best to listen intently as the paramedics relayed information and status to the on-duty physician--his mind was a bit distracted, after all. Everything seemed steady and encouraging, as Baelish had implied. She was lucky they said, all they were concerned about there being a concussion. A few short moments later, the medics and their gurney were vacating the room, leaving the three doctors at Sansa’s side. 

“The Doctors Lannister,” the on-duty, a man Tywin now recognized as Oberyn Martell, greeted. It shouldn't have been a surprise that Oberyn was still working in emergency medicine, he always had loved the thrill of it. “As I’ve already had occasion to meet the delightful Dorna, I would venture that my patient today is your wife, Tywin.”

“You’d be correct,” Tywin crossed to her side, taking her hand in his own. She weakly rolled her head to face him, briefly blinking up at him before a small smile formed on her lips. He traced the wedding bands on her ring finger, reminding himself in that small way that his wife was alive and soon would be well.

“Doc…” she frowned. “I have a terrible headache.”

“I imagine it’s in the shape of that cavalier of yours,” Tywin replied softly and she gave a small nod.

“Yeah…” her eyes drifted shut again. 

“We’ll be running all the necessary and usual tests,” Oberyn explained. “I imagine that once we have results and after a bit of an observation period, you’ll ask me to release her into your care?” he looked to Tywin. 

“I would appreciate that, yes,” Tywin replied. 

“I understand,” Oberyn said with a crooked smile. He turned to the rolling stool and slid it towards Tywin with a gentle kick. “Let me do my job and I’ll see what I can do.” 

“Thank you,” Tywin sank onto the stool, never releasing Sansa’s hand. Kevan took up residence in the chair beside the door, both of them waiting as patiently as they could. Tywin watched her closely, careful not to let her lapse into slumber until they had her complete diagnosis. 

Time passed on a steady flow of nurses and doctors, test after test and inspection after inspection. It was full dark when they were given the clearance to take Sansa home so that she and her very minor concussion could be observed there. Tywin was more than ready to get the hell out of there. 

With Kevan’s help, they made easy work of bundling Sansa into the car and getting her home. She was awake, though tired, claiming she was more than ready to take a hot shower and lay in her own bed. Tywin promised to make that a reality as soon as he could. 

Pulling into their driveway, Dorna’s car was already parked and waiting, having come to pick up Kevan and return him to his car at their offices. They carefully ushered Sansa inside and with the promise of frequent updates, Kevan and Dorna vanished into the night. 

“Let’s see to that shower you want so badly,” Tywin carefully lifted her featherlight frame into his arms and carried her up the stairs to the spacious master bedroom. He was also keen to get rid of the sterile stink of the emergency room.

“I am sorry to have been so much trouble,” Sansa said softly as he set her on the edge of the bed to help her out of the too-large nurse’s scrubs that Oberyn had loaned them. 

“There is no trouble, Sansa,” he paused, crouched before her with his hands resting on her knees. “You gave us all a good scare today.” 

“I did not mean to,” she frowned. “It was such a freak accident. Renly’s never dropped me before, I have no idea what happened. It all went by so fast.” 

“Director Baelish said that he would deal with Renly,” Tywin explained. “In the meantime, you are now under the direct care of Dr. Tywin Lannister,” he tugged the top carefully over her head and tossed it in the general direction of the hamper. 

“I’ve heard lovely things about Dr. Tywin’s bedside manner,” she smiled up at him, though the expression did not reach her eyes, a clear indicator that she was more shaken by today than she wanted to admit. He could not fault her for that; there was a great deal of trust and faith involved in her partnership with Renly Baratheon, and today that had been tested to its very foundations. All he could do now was take care of her and be there when she needed him. 

“When it comes to you, my darling, my bedside manner is very keen indeed,” He leaned down to place a soft lingering kiss on her forehead. “I am going to start the shower, I will be right back.” 

“Alright,” she said after him as he got to work. He was only away from her side for mere moments to sort out the shower, but when he returned it was to find only a wrinkled comforter where she had once sat. Familiar panic surged to life only to settle as he whirled around the bedroom and found her standing in the picture window that faced the beach. She had grabbed the throw blanket from her reading chair beside the window, wrapping haphazardly around her to cover her nudity. 

“Sansa,” he moved to her side, gently cupping her elbow. “You should be careful.”

“You know what went through my mind while I was falling? When I was laying on the stage taking stock of my life?” she whispered without looking away from the sea. 

“I cannot begin to fathom,” he admitted just as softly. 

“It wasn’t about dancing or the show,” she explained. “But of you.” 

“Me?” he was admittedly surprised by that. Not because of any doubt in Sansa’s affection for him, but because he knew how dedicated she was to her profession and her youthful dream of being the best ballerina in the world. Something that he believed was already true. It would have only been natural for her to be immediately worried for her career. 

“Us, really,” she finally turned away from the window to face him and he was struck by the tears on her cheeks. “I want to take a break from ballet, Ty,” she whispered, her voice watery and broken. 

“My Tiny Dancer,” he cupped her cheeks, wiping away her tears with the pads of his thumbs. “That is a big decision to make on a day like today.” 

“It’s been on my mind for a while,” she sniffled. “I don’t want to quit altogether, but I’d like to take a break soon. After the show runs, maybe.” 

“I will support whatever you want to do, you know that I will,” he assured her. “But I also will not let you make a decision out of fear or impulse. Not a decision this important, at least. Let’s get you healed up and back _on pointe_ , then when the show is over you can decide what you want.”

“I want to have a family, Ty,” she admitted. “A family with you” she added, knocking the very breath from his lungs. 

“Sansa…” 

“If something _worse_ would have happened today, not having a family with you would have been my biggest regret,” she reached out with the hand not holding the blanket in place, settling her palm over his heart. He shifted closer, an arm banding around her the curve of her back, forehead lowering to hers as he battled against his own emotions. 

“Sansa, I..” he broke off, swallowing thickly before he continued. “You know that I would do all that I could to give you anything that your heart desired.” 

“I know, Doc,” she brushed the tip of her nose against his. “I just want you, that’s all,” she paused. “Well, you and a bit of that Lannister ‘magic’ required to start a family,” she laughed softly and he smiled along with her. 

“Forgive me, my darling, but I must have missed the day in medical school where they covered ‘magic’,” he couldn’t help but tease, but it had the desired effect. The last of the sadness melted away from her features and she brushed her lips against hers as she laughed. 

“I just wanted to get that off of my chest. I think I am ready for that shower now,” she said. “Then after, will you hold me?” 

“Always” he promised without pause. 

“Sansa,” Director Baelish was waiting for her as she reached the stage’s right wing. The entire theatre seemed to be filled with raucous applause and cheering as the curtain came down. Behind the thick velvet she could see the corps de ballet as they prepared for the start of final curtain calls. It had been a long run, exhausting but rewarding. 

And it was finally over. 

“Director Baelish,” she smiled as he embraced her. 

“You danced beautifully, as always,” he praised at the end of their hug. He took her hand, holding it gently. “I am going to miss you when you’re gone.” 

“I won’t really be gone-gone,” she smiled. 

“Having you teaching with me is different than dancing for me,” Baelish scoffed. “Much different. Though I know that there are several corps de ballet dancers greatly looking forward to lessons from none other than the prima herself.”

“I am excited as well,” she nodded. Tywin and herself had talked at-length about what the future held for them. They both wanted to start a family, but they both knew that if Sansa were to step away from ballet entirely, she would feel very lost. Ballet was her passion and it would be impossible for her to find such happiness working anywhere else.

So when Tywin suggested that she talk to Director Baelish about moving into another role at the LBC, it was the perfect solution. Baelish, while disappointed that she wanted to take a season off, understood why she was asking for this personal time, and offered her a position teaching at his side. She didn’t have to think about it, she had immediately accepted. Things had been set in motion and Sansa was greatly looking forward to what the future held. 

Now, they had finished _‘Romeo & Juliet’_ and judging by the sound, were receiving a standing ovation. 

“Our turn,” Baelish offered her his arm and together they moved to center stage, stepping through the corps de ballet to give their final bows of the season. Baelish stepped aside as she curtsied and offered applause of his own as she stood and it was all she could do not to burst into tears. 

Her eyes moved to the front row as they always did at each opening and closing night, finding her husband standing tall in his polished tuxedo. Had there ever been a man this devastatingly handsome? Beside him was Kevan, Dorna, and Sansa’s parents, all of them beaming with unmistakable pride. 

“Go on,” Baelish said over the audience’s applause. She nodded and stepped away, moving gracefully to the side of the stage and the steps there. Security watched over her as she closed the distance between the stage and her family. When she was close, Tywin produced a large bouquet--red camellias, and extended it to her. 

“Doc,” she quickly kissed him, gently cradling the flowers in her arms. 

“You were perfect,” he cupped her cheek. “As always.” 

“Thank you. I love you,” she swallowed back a wave of emotion, briefly glancing to where her parents were beaming at her. “I should...”

“Go, soak up your praise. You’ve earned it,” he encouraged. “Then you can grace your family with your presence at dinner,” he added and she laughed, the emotions of the day bubbling over. A tear ran down her cheek and she squeezed her husband’s hand for a brief moment before she rushed back to the stage. 

She took her director’s arm and curtsied one last time for the season. One last time to signal the end of this chapter in her life. The scent of camellia’s surrounded her, she held tightly to the blooms--the same flowers that Tywin had given her on their first date all those years ago. Rising to her feet, she smiled a watery and overwhelmed smile at the audience before stepping back, allowing the curtain to finally fall into its resting place. 

The walk to her dressing room passed in a haze of hugs and words of congratulations, so many that the faces began to blur together. She set her beautiful flowers aside only to remove her costume--a diaphanous dress that moved like liquid silver as she danced, and to scrub away the thick stage makeup that was caked on her face. Pulling on a simple yet elegant midnight blue sheath dress, she unpinned her hair from its constricting bun and braided it over one shoulder to keep it out of her face. 

That done, she stared at herself in the mirror for several moments, absently wondering when the next time she stood in this exact spot would be. So much would change between then and now, she could only dream about what her life would be by then.

A sudden knock came at the door and Tywin entered, their family visible in the hallway outside behind him. 

“Are you ready for dinner, Tiny Dancer?” he smiled down at her.

“Almost, Doc. My shoes,” she looked down at her pointe shoes. 

“Allow me,” he helped her to sit in the chair and crouched before her. Throughout the years of their marriage, Tywin had learned a lot about not only the visible world of ballet, but the invisible one as well. He saw the performances and glittering costumes, he heard the applause and praise. But he also saw the battered and twisted condition of her feet and toes, watched the way she bandaged and taped them to protect them as best she could. He saw every sordid detail of the tolls her passion took on her body, still he cared for her each and every step of the way. 

Untying the ribbons, he carefully removed each pointe shoe and set them in her duffel bag on the floor beside the chair. The tape and bandages came next, his strong fingers rubbing the arches of her feet at the same time he tugged the adhesive away and she had to swallow back a moan at how good it felt. Lannister magic was a known medical phenomenon. The only problem was that their family was just feet away and likely watching, she had to keep her ovaries under control for just a bit longer now. _Countdown commencing…_

“There we are,” he slipped her flats onto her feet and zipped her duffel closed. 

“Thank you, Doc.” 

“You’re quite welcome, my darling girl,” he stole a kiss and stood, rising to his full great height. He grabbed her bag and slung it over one shoulder before offering his hand. “Shall we?” She took his hand, lacing their fingers as she stood. Not forgetting her flowers, she hooked them over her free arm and they walked out of the dressing room, then theatre together.

“Ty, do me a favor will you?” Kevan said as he stepped into Tywin’s office. His younger brother had already discarded his lab coat for the day, his winter jacket tucked into his elbow. Winter had arrived in Lannisport at last, which meant that everyone in the city had forgotten how to drive in the rain. 

“What’s that?” Tywin checked his watch; nearly five o’clock on a Friday and he was more than ready to leave work. “I have to meet Sansa in an hour, will it take long?” 

“Not at all,” Kevan smirked, tucking his hands into his pockets. “You will be out of here on time, as promised. I’d hate to keep my favorite good-sister waiting.” 

“She’s your only good-sister,” Tywin scoffed. 

“Doesn’t change the facts,” Kevan shrugged. “Anyway, room 3 is just waiting for some results, the file is on the door.” 

“Sure,” Tywin agreed. “I will take care of it. Get out of here before you keep _my_ good-sister waiting.” 

“Look at us now, two old married men,” he laughed. “Who’d have thunk it?” 

“Speak for yourself, I’m not old,” Tywin countered, pushing to his feet. 

“Of course, how silly of me,” Kevan replied dryly, clapping him on the shoulder before stepping back into the hall. “Thanks for taking care of room 3. I will see you on Sunday, yeah?” 

“Sunday,” Tywin nodded in confirmation, as if he could ever forget about the Lannister family Sunday dinners. He had always been close with his brother, but now that Sansa had come into the family, there was a new level of camaraderie that they’d reached. Both Lannister brothers were settled now, married and blissfully happy. They’d found a sense of peace that he hadn’t realized they were missing. 

Though he believed that to be a direct result of the ‘Sansa Effect’. His vibrant bride had a way of enchanting those around her, and not just on the stage. He had quickly realized--and by quickly he meant half-way through their first dinner, that he could speak with her for hours, discussing everything and nothing all at once. Time seemed to fly by as they conversed and before they knew it they were being politely informed that the restaurant would like to close up for the night. 

They had not even noticed the late hour or the fact that a spring rainstorm had fallen over Lannisport, leaving the city a drenched mess. Sansa had blushed beautifully as he helped her into his too-large coat before paying the check. A brief but not lacking in sexual awareness cab ride later, he was walking her to her front door. While he had once considered himself an old-fashioned man when it came to dating and courtship, he had been unable to stop himself from kissing her that first night. 

That kiss became the first of many they’d share throughout their relationship. Tywin treasured each and every one of them. 

Making his way down the short hallway, he noticed that Jeyne was also packing up for the evening. She was also likely anxious to begin her weekend, as he was. His Tiny Dancer was waiting for him and he was loath to be late.

Reaching the door to room 3, he was surprised to find the patient file was very thin and immediately assumed that they must be one of Kevan’s newer ones. A brief glance at the name and tests, he knocked on the door, letting himself in a moment later. 

“Alright, Miss. Stone, it looks as if you’re here for some blood test results--” he trailed off when he realized just _who_ was actually seated on the exam table.

“Doc,” she smiled shyly, eyes bright with emotion. She looked nervous--unsure as she watched him, already dressed for the early-anniversary dinner they planned to have later this evening. 

“Sansa…what? Not that I am not delighted to see you but what are you doing here?” 

“The results, Ty,” she nodded to the folder in his hand and he dumbly tried to sort out the words. Panic gripped his stomach as he tried to remember what he’d read mere moments before. Instead he only conjured any number of things that could be affecting his wife, each of them worse than the last and not a single one of them coming close to what the paper read. Finally his eyes focused and---

“Positive---p-pregnant...we’re pregnant?” his eyes lifted to hers just in time to see tears streaming down her cheeks. 

“I suppose we are,” she sniffled. 

“Oh my Gods,” he tossed the file aside, unconcerned that it and it’s contents landed in the stainless steel sink along the wall. An instant later she was on her feet and in his arms, wrapped tightly in his embrace as her slender frame shook with sobs. They’d been trying for so long--so very long, now that the moment had finally arrived, it felt more like a dream state than reality. Sansa’s years of hard training and the lingering effects of the birth control shot made it just a bit harder for them to conceive than they had originally anticipated.

“I swore Kevan to secrecy, he promised he wouldn’t look at the results,” Sansa explained, her lips brushing his neck as she spoke. “I wanted you to be the first to know, but Ty—” she took a ragged breath. “I knew, I just knew in my heart that we’d finally done it.”

“I love you,” he whispered in reply, running his hands through her hair to smooth it from her face. He cupped her cheeks, guiding her to look up at him. “My darling wife. My Tiny Dancer.”

“I love you too,” she smiled through her tears of happiness. “Now we have quite a few things to celebrate tonight, don’t we?”

“Married five years, together for just over six, and now…”

“Now a baby,” she finished for him when his emotions choked him up. 

“Perhaps that daughter you’ve been daydreaming about,” he smiled down at her. 

“I can’t help it if I want a little ballerina to carry on the legacy,” she answered with a watery laugh, sniffling back her tears. “Legacy is important, you always say.”

“You know,” he leaned away to grab a tissue, wiping away her tears. “The first time I met you was in this very room, you were a bit stuffy then, too.”

“That was many ‘March Madnesses’ ago,” she nodded. 

“Yes it was,” he agreed. “Though not too many, I’m still young yet” he reasoned, he wasn’t even 50 yet. 

“Of course you are,” she assured him. 

“Well then, how about we lock up and see to our celebration dinner, Mrs. Lannister?”

“That sounds agreeable to me, Dr. Lannister,” she said. 

“Or,” he shifted closer, lowering his lips so that their lips brushed as he spoke. “We could just go home and celebrate there.”

“Home,” she sighed, melting against him. “Home is good.”

“Home is very good,” he pulled her closer for a deep, searing kiss. 

**Epilogue:**

“There we are,” Sansa cooed softly as she sank into the rocking chair beside the crib. She gently settled the small bundle of her impatient daughter across her lap. “No more tears, my love,” she parted her robe and situated Camille Tyva Lannister so that she could latch on and greedily enjoy her breakfast. Her whimpers turned to soft noises of contentment as she nursed, resting a tiny hand on the upper curve of Sansa’s breast. 

Sansa watched her daughter, still amazed at the lovely miracle they’d been given. Though she was only a few weeks old, Camille was already stealing hearts everywhere she went. Especially when she visited her daddy’s office. The man who had dedicated his career to caring for the children of Lannisport finally had a child of his own and he did so love to show her off. 

The impression that Dr. Tywin Lannister had left on her ovaries upon their initial meeting was not incorrect; the man looked sexy as hell holding their baby. Tywin constantly worried over being a good father, she’d sensed that from the beginning. But the reality of Tywin Lannister as a father was completely adorable. He already doted on Camille, answering her every whim and, more often than not, did paperwork while holding her since he was loath to put her down. 

Not that Sansa could blame him, she loved taking Camille to the theatre with her as well. 

Like her mother before her, Sansa had hopes that Camille would share her love of ballet. It was an odd sort of family tradition to be certain, but growing up Sansa had loved that she shared ballet with her mother, and admittedly wanted to experience the other side of that bond. Tywin would often tease that Camille could very well follow in _his_ footsteps and go into medicine. She knew, however, that Tywin wasn’t serious when he said that; the tiny pair of ballet slippers he privately gifted to her on the night of her baby shower confirmed that much. She had cried hysterically, completely overwhelmed by her husband’s love for her and their unborn child.

Either way, they were still a few years from when Camille had to make any serious career decisions. 

“Good morning,” Tywin’s sleep-raspy voice greeted as he crossed towards them. When he reached her, he kissed her forehead and absently tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. He was nearly ready for the day, having already showered and dressed while she saw to settling Camille. 

“Good morning,” Sansa smiled, watching him crouch in front of the rocking chair to greet Camille. 

“And how are my two favorite girls doing today?” he gently brushed Camille’s cheek with the back of his finger. 

“We’re doing good, Daddy,” Sansa smiled. “Getting ready for the big day ahead of us.” 

“We’ve had a busy week,” Tywin said. “Two month checkup yesterday, which she passed with flying colors--” 

“Of course.” 

“Of course,” he nodded in agreement. “And today we have our big car ride.” 

“My mother is going to be very surprised,” Sansa noted. Today they were going to drive North to surprise her mother in an early celebration of ‘The Day of the Mother’. Eddard was in on the plans, ensuring that Catelyn would be home and waiting at just the perfect time. This being Sansa’s first year as a mother, it was doubly important for them to celebrate and what better way to do that than to surprise grandma. 

“That’s the idea,” Tywin agreed, watching Camille intently. “She’s so perfect,” he whispered, almost speaking to himself. 

“She is,” Sansa replied in kind. “Very much so.” 

“Is it too soon to say that I want another?” he chuckled. 

“A bit,” she wrinkled her nose in amusement. “But I’d be inclined to agree,” she said as Camille shifted away, letting her know that she’d eaten enough for now. Instinctively Tywin took her into his capable hands and cradled her to his shoulder. Sansa stood, adjusting her robe back into place; she still hadn’t gotten used to the changes that having a baby had brought to her body, most specifically her breasts and the fact that she actually _had_ them now.

“Go and shower,” Tywin turned to steal a quick kiss. “I’ll take care of our Tiniest Dancer now.” 

“Sounds good,” Sansa laughed. She moved away, pausing to lean against the door jamb and observe the two together. It may seem like the most ordinary or occurrences, but watching father and daughter together always made her heart melt. She knew that Tywin’s past held its share of heartbreak and hardships, that he had nearly given up on love when Joanna had been taken from him. But he had come through it all stalwart and strong, never losing the compassion in his heart. 

She watched for a few more minutes before finally forcing herself away to ready for the day; they had a grandma to surprise.

Tywin watched from the doorway, a silly smile surely engrained on his features as it always was when he watched his Tiny Dancers. Though she was not quite old enough for pointe shoes just yet, at just twenty months old, that did not stop Camille from mimicking her mother’s every move. 

He had admittedly been terrified when Camille was born. He had spent his career working with children, but he had never been a father himself and he was afraid that he would not be very adept at it. But the first moment when the doctor placed Camille in his arms, he knew that he would do whatever he had to--move heaven and earth if necessary, to be the best father he could be. She deserved nothing less. 

Camille was already growing to be a chip off of the ballet block, so to speak. Though she had the signature blonde hair and emerald eyes of a Lannister, at heart she was just like her mother. While Sansa did one day hope that their daughter would take to ballet, never pushed or forced. Still, Camille was _always_ dancing. She would get into Sansa’s leotards and shoes to play dress up and if the opportunity to be in the studio with her mother arose, she would follow along in a heartbeat. 

This was Sansa’s second season back since Camille had been born, and in another season or so she wanted to take another break to try for a second baby. Tywin could hardly refuse, he’d love to add another cub to their family. Plus, he would be remiss not to remind himself how much he enjoyed admiring Sansa’s body when she was pregnant. She glowed with happiness, even in the latter days when she was overwhelmed by her stomach.

With another ‘March Madness’ looming on the horizon, Sansa had taken to practising in the afternoons while Camille napped and then again in the evenings after they put their daughter to bed. During that time Tywin would usually cook dinner for them both, doing his part to ensure that his wife ate right and that he was able to carry her to their bed shortly thereafter. 

“Daddy, look!” Camille called out, spinning dramatically once he was looking. 

“Perfection,” Tywin applauded which had Camille squealing with laughter. 

“Wonderful indeed,” Sansa scooped their laughing daughter up into her arms, carrying her over to where Tywin stood. The moment they were close enough, Camille was wiggling her way into his arms, her puffy pink tutu crinkling as he situated her on his hip. “You’re home early,” Sansa smiled as she kissed him. 

“I had a few cancellations so Kevan offered to take my last few patients for today,” Tywin explained. 

“That was nice of him.” 

“We danced, Daddy!” Camille explained. 

“So I saw,” he replied. “My Tiny Dancers were hard at work.”

“Pretty soon she’ll be dancing circles around me,” Sansa beamed. He could see how proud she was of their daughter, how happy she was to share these moments with her. 

“Someday perhaps,” Tywin agreed. “Until then, all Tiny Dancers are required to eat lunch and take naps.” 

“Nooo,” Camille protested dramatically, letting her head fall to Tywin’s shoulder. “I’m not sleepy.” 

“Ah, but you are hungry?” he countered and she nodded. “Lunch it is, then,” he added and turned to Sansa. “You finish up here, no need to rush.” 

“Thank you, Doc,” she kissed his cheek and playfully swatted his behind as he retreated from the studio. 

It was nearly an hour later, after he had tucked Camille in for her nap and returned to cleaning off the countertops in the kitchen that her arms banded around his waist and she pressed against his back. It was fortunate that she was as tall as she was, it enabled her to fit against him rather perfectly; it always had.

“She always goes down for a nap without a fight for you.” 

“It’s my natural charm,” Tywin turned in her embrace, wrapping his arms around her. She had discarded her pointe shoes and tights, wearing only a baggy white sweater than hung off of her shoulder. “Well now,” he brushed her braid over her shoulder, tracing his fingers across her collarbone. 

“Camille has her nap,” Sansa smirked. “Which means I have a few windfall hours with my husband to myself. And with ‘March Madness’ coming up, I am very grateful for that.”

“And whatever are you going to do with these hours, my darling girl?” 

“Well...what I have in mind involves the two of us…”

“Mmhmm.” 

“No clothing allowed.” 

“Go on.” 

“Bed optional.” 

“Alright then, Mrs. Lannister,” he moved before she could react, lifting her by the thighs and carrying her backwards to sit her on the counter. Her legs wrapped around his hips as he stepped into the cradle of her thighs. “You’ve talked me into it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr for pic sets and more shenanigans!  
> @the-red-wulf or https://the-red-wulf.tumblr.com/
> 
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